


baby, it’s cold outside

by starlight_in_the_gloom



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, I couldn’t think of a good title, Implied Sexual Content, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role), there’s no plot. none
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_in_the_gloom/pseuds/starlight_in_the_gloom
Summary: Written for nevershootamockingbird for the UnDeadwood Holiday Exchange!
Relationships: Miriam Landisman/Arabella Whitlock
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18
Collections: Yee-Hawligays Undeadwood Fic Exchange





	baby, it’s cold outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nevershootamockingbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevershootamockingbird/gifts).



Miriam closed the door quickly as she came in, but a small flurry of snow still made its way through and scattered over the floor. She laughed softly to herself and glanced up at Arabella, face flushed with the cold. Her eyelashes and hair were encrusted with snowflakes, glittering in the low light. Arabella’s pulse sang in her chest.

So she looped one hand in Miriam’s scarf and pulled her forward to kiss her, the other hand cradling her jaw. Fresh from the cold, the chaste kiss felt searingly hot.

Miriam pulled back gently, giggling. “Your hands are cold,” she chastised. “I  _ told you  _ to wear gloves.” She tugged Arabella’s hand from her cheek and pressed it between her own (gloved) hands.

“I wasn’t expecting to be out all night,” Arabella replied and pressed a kiss instead to the back of Miriam’s knuckles.

“And yet, here we are.” Miriam smiled fondly at her and released her hand. She ran the pad of her thumb over Arabella’s cheekbone, soft leather sliding over her skin. Arabella shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Then Miriam shrugged out of her coat, hung it neatly up by the door, and stepped lightly around Arabella, catching her eye with a  _ look  _ and disappearing into the hallway. Arabella kicked off her boots and put up her jacket hastily, following quickly.

She found her in the kitchen, pulling a pair of mugs from the cabinet. She set them on the counter, filled them with milk, and set them in the microwave. “My mother used to make cinnamon toast and hot chocolate during the winter,” Miriam said as it buzzed away. “She’d make the toast over the stove, but I never quite got the hang of that.” She tugged her gloves off and set them on the counter, then pulled out the mugs. Arabella watched her slim hands as she mixed spoonfuls of hot chocolate mix into them.

“Bella?” Miriam looked at her expectantly. Oh. She’d said something.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Arabella asked, blinking rapidly.

“Distracted?” The corner of Miriam’s mouth twisted wryly.

Great. Now she was looking at Miriam’s lips. Arabella cleared her throat as if the action would clear her head. “Maybe a little.”

Miriam hummed. “I asked if you would like marshmallows.”

“Ah, no thank you.”

Miriam pressed one of the mugs into her hand. It was the white one with little orange cats—Mason had gotten it for her last year. Apparently, he couldn’t keep buying Clayton mugs, as their house had reached maximum drinkware capacity. Arabella smiled and took a sip, allowing the warmth to leech into her bones.

“Feeling warmer?” Miriam asked, glancing pointedly at her fingers.

“Much.” Arabella paused. Steam curled around her jaw. “But if that was what you were after, dear, there are better ways to warm up.”

“I’m sure there are.” Miriam said indulgently and dumped a quarter of the bag of tiny marshmallows into her own drink. They would be a soggy mess by the time all was said and done. Arabella did not understand the appeal.

They stood there in comfortable silence for a few moments. Miriam was leaned against the counter and Arabella was half sitting on the table, and in the narrow space, their legs tangled together. Miriam’s body heat soaked through into her calves, even through her thick leggings.

Eventually, Miriam set her empty cup down by the sink. Arabella downed the rest of her drink in one go, then slid it next to hers. “We should probably get changed for bed,” Miriam suggested.

“Solid logic.” Arabella agreed. She impulsively reached out and tugged at Miriam’s tie, running the silky fabric between her thumb and index finger. Miriam smiled something wicked.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, then. You can wait up for me in our room, if you’d like.” Miriam said lightly and left. Arabella exhaled deeply, hand falling back to her side. God be damned if Miriam didn’t know how to play her like a fiddle.

She was still standing there when she heard the shower start up. She gathered up Miriam’s gloves from the counter and padded to the bedroom, setting them down on the dresser. She sighed in relief as she finally took off her dress—as much as she liked the thing, the zipper down the side tended to chafe. She considered stripping entirely and waiting for Miriam like that, then decided that would be a little too on the nose.

The snow hadn’t stopped falling outside. This late at night, with the thickness of the snow around them, it felt as though the world had gone still and quiet and narrowed to her home. Arabella would never like winter—too much Georgia in her blood—but she did like that part of it. It was a peaceful silence, not a lonely one.

Although the latter was largely due to Miriam.

As if on cue, Miriam’s footsteps came down the hall. She came in, humming low and slightly off-key under her breath. Her hair was damp and clung to her neck—a drop of water ran down the column of her throat and stalled in the hollow of her collarbone. Arabella’s eyes slid lower and—ah. She was wearing one of Arabella’s old t-shirts. Arabella’s smile came nearly unbidden, as did the familiar rush of warmth in her chest.

“Always so patient for me,” Miriam murmured, curving a hand around the back of Arabella’s neck. Then she smiled, dark as molasses, and heat stirred low in Arabella’s gut.

“Anything for you,” Arabella replied, and Miriam’s smile widened.

“I think we’re very lucky neither of us have anything tomorrow morning,” Miriam told her, and gently pushed her back on the bed, settling in her lap. 

“Whatever you say.” Arabella said and gave into the temptation to bite the juncture of her neck and shoulder, then soothed it with her tongue. Miriam laughed, soft and breathy.

“I hope that’s a promise.”

  
  



End file.
